Dating in your teens is difficult; long-distance turns out to be even more so. Space makes people drift apart further than they already are. That's what all the books I've ever read have taught me. And I've read every book in Hilltop twice over — or, at least, the ones that aren't about politics or history. But with Carl and me, it's not like that. We're not like that. He'll visit The Hilltop whenever there is so much as a short message regarding the movements of a small horde being passed to us, and I man the relay halfway between our communities as much as the rota allows me.

But I don't visit him in Alexandria.

I haven't.

And that's okay.

Because it has to be.

One of the bridges on route C is crumbling apart on one side, and my stomach turns as I lean in my saddle to glance over the edge. I know Carl would have had it worse — probably wouldn't have even looked.

I ride at the back of the caravan with Marco and Ken. Maggie and Enid lead the wagon ahead of us, with Jesus and Alden in front of them with Aaron — who came back from a run with Jesus last night. Daryl meets us halfway to the rally point on his rumbling motorcycle, his patterned bandana covering his face.

"No Sasha?" I ask him, confused as he pulls up alone alongside me. Downy-Beardy barely spooks at the sound of the bike's engine, having gotten used to it by now.

"Nah, man," Daryl grunts. "She figured one of us should stay at Sanctuary to keep the peace."

Half a mile out from DC, we meet with Tara, who clops her horse all the way to the back just to bump my fist and comment on how long my hair has gotten. Kingdom and Oceanside join our caravan next. Carol, Ezekiel, Jenny, and Cyndie are all waving from their healthy-looking horses. I ride up alongside them to ask question after question about Henry and the choir group and anything else new in the Kingdom. I note Jenny's new prosthetic leg. It looks like something an athlete might wear, with a curve at the end. She tells me she only wears it on supply runs since it makes her wobbly.

When Alexandria's convoy comes into sight, we're finally all together again and ready for the run into the city. Rick, Michonne, Gabriel, Carl, Mikey, and Siddiq all come into sight. I ride up to them next, leaning across the horses to kiss Carl before high-fiving Mikey and asking him—

"Where's Rosita?"

"Two herds were seen going towards Silvia... y'know, the super giant herd. She went to check it out. She said to say sorry and see you soon."

We ride deeper into the city than I've ever been before, and the horses seem to enjoy the change to the cracked city roads with their sprouts of grass and weeds growing up through their cuts. We ride past the Washington Monument and stop right outside the Smithsonian Museum that scouts from Kingdom found. It's giant. The tall white columns holding up the Roman-like entrance make me gasp in awe. We're looking for the farming equipment we need for our fields, some old wagon, and some seeds that Anne said should be here. Apparently, she was a teacher before a trash-based cult leader, so that's how she knows.

Rick holds the door while Michonne decapitates a walker foolish enough to poke its head out. I tilt my head to read part of a banner that's fallen from the enormous white pillars above us, it says something about the American West, and I can already feel Mikey vibrating from excitement beside me.

"We're good for now," Michonne whispers to the group after sticking her head through the ajar door. "Sweep protocol when we get in."

Carl nudges my arm as everyone starts filing in behind Rick and Michonne.

"Nice spear," he says, grinning at the weapon I'm holding. He raises an eyebrow. "Do you like the design? I wasn't sure."

"Reminds me a little of Morgan's staff," I say, giving him a nod as I twirl it in my grip. "Thanks."

Inside, cobwebs infest every inch of the lobby, hanging off walls and coating the greetings desk; the latter has grey fingers climbing up from the other side, and Rick buries his hatchet in the decrepit receptionist's skull when she finally peeks up. I stroll past him, plucking one of the museum guide leaflets from a rack full of them and handing it to Mikey. He pushes his glasses up his nose and reads through it greedily.

"Good to see you, son," Rick whispers, patting my shoulder after he's done checking behind the reception desk. "Sorry it hasn't been sooner."

I give him my best 'no worries' smile before we move on with the others.

The next room is round and reaches up so high I have to tilt my head all the way back to see the ceiling. Banners are hanging from it. One reads natural history while the other says Gallery of fine art. The final one repeats the American History banner from outside. Tents and sleeping bags are set up all around, and I can only imagine that they weren't here before the fall. Tara slowly unzips and pokes her head inside one, jumping back when four pigeons fly out and shoot upwards and over some railing on the upper floors.

"Fucking-fuck-shit," she hisses, rubbing her head and grinning at everyone that stares at her. "Just pigeons here, team."

"Y'all got your lists," Rick calls out softly to everyone. "Circle back here when you're done. Be safe."

Enid taps Mikey's elbow and points in the direction of the natural history section, and she doesn't have to ask twice.

Carl leans over my shoulder from behind as I check an old and tattered sleeping bag and whispers, "You're with me."

I nod and follow him and some of the others to the American History part of the museum, another giant room with a grand, wide staircase in the middle leading up. Ezekiel and Michonne take down two walkers lying on the floor before they can get up. The floor by the stairs makes me feel funny inside. It's made of glass, and in the room below it are too many walkers to count, all just bumbling around with no shoulder room to do much except stumble on the spot. Unlike the others, Carl and I take the time to walk around it to reach the stairs. And when we get there, a crumbling sound of tumbling brick comes from behind and above us. We all spin to see a walker tumble off the third-floor balcony and crash land on the glass floor with a crack, pinned down by a piece of rebar sticking through its chest. Daryl shoots an arrow into its head from halfway up the steps. We all wait for the floor to shatter, but it doesn't.

"Christ," Carl breathes.

"You said it," Jenny mutters.

Maggie nods. "Yeah."

"Onward," Ezekiel tells everyone with a hand on Carol's shoulder. "We'll figure it out."

Cyndie shakes her head. "So much for silent."

When we get to the top of the steps, Carl places a hand on the curve of my lower back and starts pushing me in the opposite direction of the others.

"Eyes and ears open," Michonne whisper yells after us.

"Yes, ma'am," I call back.

We turn three or four corners, not stopping to take in the exhibits as much as I would like.

"This is a great place for a date," I note. "I guess our first date."

Carl finds a supply closet, opens the door and pulls me inside.

"What's on our list?" I ask him as he shuts the door, the only light inside being a dim skylight above us with enough autumn leaves covering it to turn the room a faint orange. "Only looks like mops and spare stanchions in here."

"What list?" Carl smirks, pushing me up against a dusty wax figurine of George Washington and kissing me aggressively. It's feverish, and his hand is on the small of my back again, and it's all lasting for long enough that I start to worry people will wonder where we are.

"Missed you, too," I laugh when we pull away for air. "But, shouldn't we be looking for..."

"We've got time," Carl says quickly and breathlessly, pushing my spear to one side by the mops and dropping his hat on the floor before reaching for my belt and slowly going to kneel on the dusty floor.

"Wait!" I say urgently, making his eye snap up to me.

"What?" he asks, confused.

"We can't— y'know," I say out of the corner of my mouth, nodding over my shoulder to the wax figure. "In front of George."

Carl grins up at me. "I'm sure he won't mind."

When we finally come out of the closet, we're a little flustered and trying our hardest to look like Carl didn't just blow me in the supply closet. Carl points to some display cases down the way and says he'll go look for something to explain what we've been doing. I laugh, grabbing his chin between my thumb and finger to kiss him one more time and tell him to be careful.

Jenny is down the hall, staring at a display case with a headdress of so many black-tipped white feathers that if you were to put it on it would almost sweep to the floor — but not quite. It is beside another display of colourfully painted bowls and plates that all seem too beautiful to actually eat off.

"You okay?" I ask her.

"Yeah," she smiles, fiddling with a string bracelet on her left wrist. "Just... my Nonna would have dug this place."

"Yeah?"

She nods.

"How about you?" I ask.

She sighs, tapping against the glass with her index finger. "I wish I dug it. I don't know... it's silly probably."

"Why's it silly?"

Jenny shrugs, looking at me and smiling softly. "I just wish I had maybe asked her more about this stuff when she was around? I wish I knew where my blood came from. Even if it's not really my blood. I wonder what it was like for her having all this be a part of her."

"Can't you ask your dad?"

"I do," Jenny says, nodding. "I have, and he's told me what she told him, but he doesn't know it all. He's also been feeling iller lately, so there's that, too. It was weird. I grew up Italian in a Native family. Or, at least, that's what people said. I didn't really feel the Native side so much since Dad was adopted into it."

"You thinking about taking any of this stuff with us," I ask.

She smirks. "Nah, it's just stuff now. I saw Cyndie checking out a canoe down by the stairs, though. I'll go help her out with that."

I find myself looking around in display cases and at wax figures until Carl reappears with armfuls of old-looking furry jackets and brightly sewn blankets. It all looks Native American, too.

"For the winter?" I ask.

"Yeah," he nods. "Snow wasn't too bad last year, but we definitely could have used more coats."

"Could use more raincoats with the spring storms," I add.

Maggie, Michonne, and Carol find the plough that we need for Hilltop; that Earl will be able to use as a model to make more. Daryl finds the wagon we're looking for, and I catch Michonne staring at a poster talking about some perfect union and the civil war. When I ask, she brushes it off and says she'll tell me later.

Rick's group meets back up with us. Anne found enough seeds to keep the Sanctuary going, and Gabriel mentions something to me about seeing the de-evolution of man. I laugh off and assume that it's a need to be there to get it thing.

Then the tricky part happens. I wonder how the hell they got the wagon upstairs when the museum was still showing exhibitions, because trying to get it down and across the glass floor just feels like a bad time, even if there wasn't a swarm of dead people under it. We tie a spider web of ropes around every support we can find. Ropes around our waists in case the glass breaks. Rick, Carol, Carl, and Ezekiel hold the wagon from each wheel, while Michonne and Daryl hold it back with rope from the stairs as Marco with the help of Ken guides it down the stairs and onto the glass.

"So far, so good," Rick says, nodding to Siddiq and me as we hold onto the other end of the rope that's around his waist. He tests the glass with his boot, keeping to the steel beams between each pane of glass.

I hold my breath, watching as little cracks appear under each wheel.

"Woah— woah— okay—"

"Watch your fingers..."

"Last step!"

"Hold! Hold!"

Then it's onto the sturdy floor, and the sound of groaning glass stops.

I hold tighter as Rick goes back to help Daryl with the canoe.

Then Ezekiel and Carol go back for the plough.

They go as fast as they can but the glass is faster to shatter.

"You've got to go!" Rick barks.

"Save the plough!" Ezekiel yells, pushing it and Carol to safety.

Then he falls through the floor, dangling from his rope above hissing teeth and grasping, rotten nails. They grab his ankles and claw at his back. Everyone clings to his rope to keep him above the walkers. Daryl shoots one that tries to bite his foot. I throw Carol a padded duvet from one of the tents that she sets over broken glass for Ezekiel to climb on. Then he's up. Carol's kissing him and holding his face and both of them are breathing hard and laughing breathlessly before she kisses him again.

Outside, people load the canoe and plough into the back of the wagon while Ken and I attach it to Gabriel and Anne's horses who are both used to pulling wagons. Daryl scouts the road ahead on his motorcycle while Rick and Michonne lead the rest of us out of the city. By the time we're back on country roads not too far from our usual routes, I'm riding at the back of the caravan with Carl, Mikey, Marco, Ken, and Alden.

"So, Mikey..." Marco clears his throat.

"Mm-hmm?" Mikey looks up obliviously from scratching Red-Polo's mane.

"That giant whale skeleton was pretty cool, right?" Marco says, rubbing the back of his neck.

Carl and I look over to Alden, who rolls his eyes. Ken chuckles to himself, shaking his head.

"Oh my gosh, wasn't it?!" Mikey grins, sitting up in his saddle and getting a whinny from Red-Polo when he stops scratching.

"Yeah," Marco nods. "Kind of a shame how it wasn't on the ceiling anymore."

"I thought it looked pretty awesome on the ground, though," Mikey says. "Like it crashed while swimming."

"Oh yeah, totally."

"Hey, Ken," Alden speaks when all the awkwardness clearly gets too much for him, "Marco here thinks he wants to learn the trade. Think your dad'll take on another apprentice?"

"I don't see why not," Ken says, shrugging and glancing my way. "He's always asking if Rhys will do it full-time."

"I can't tell if he likes me," Marco says.

"He's just quiet," Ken tells him. "I mean, it comes across as grumpy."

"I don't think I've ever seen the guy smile," Marco says.

"Yeah, me neither," Mikey agrees.

Ken smirks, scoffing at them. "All right— it's just, he needs to get to know you first."

Marco raises an eyebrow.

"Look, I think he'd appreciate the extra help," Ken insists. "Because the Kingdom just sent in this large shipment of scrap metal to melt down. Hell, shoeing these horses is a full-time job."

"And yet, Rhys somehow makes them both part-time," Alden chuckles. "And if it makes you feel any better, Marco, I was pretty sure he hated me, too."

"Same," I say. "I thought Earl hated me at first."

"Why?" Carl asks.

"Wasn't ever sure," I laugh. "But then Tammy-Rose and him invited me for supper after my third time at the forge. Pretty sure they were just happy I became friends with Ken."

Ken laughs, shaking his head. "That wasn't it, trust me."

"Wait, hold on..." I gasp with my mouth agape. "Are you saying we're not friends? I'm hurt."

Everyone laughs, Ken, shaking his head again and chuckling along.

While Carl puts on an amused face and watches Marco attempt to continue talking with Mikey, and Ken and Alden start chatting about horseshoes, I overhear Ezekiel and Carol talking a few paces behind us on their horses.

"Lady Carol, I must admit I was scared back there."

"I was, too. I'm glad you're okay."

"It made me remember something I've been taking for granted lately. We can't wait on life, so..."

"Don't."

"Will you marry me?"

I glance over my shoulder, my eyes going wide at the ring Ezekiel has pinched between two fingers, holding it up to Carol. She looks ready to fall off the horse. I look away quickly but keep my ears tuned to the conversation.

"Put that thing away," Carol orders. "It'll snag on everything! And I told you not to ask me that."

"I know—"

"Especially after something like this."

"I know that, too."

"And this is not happening on a horse."

Ezekiel starts laughing merrily. "I love you. And I always will. I'll keep this ring until you're ready."

I look back at them in time to catch Carol smirking at Ezekiel's wide and goofy grin. Then Carol catches me staring, and I chuckle to myself before turning back to the road.

Daryl finally meets back up with us, a quad bike following on his tail. Even though she's far away and wearing a new leather jacket with a black visored helmet, I recognise Rosita straight away.

I'm grinning, but that ends fast once she takes the helmet off and I see her face.

Rosita leads us to the bridge on route B. It's out. Crumbled into the sweeping river rapids below.

"This is from last night's storm?" Carl asks, keeping far back from the edge.

"That probably weakened it," Rosita says. "But two other herds merged into herd Silvia, so now it's even bigger. One of them came through here, and the back end took down the bridge."

"What about the walkie repeater that Eugene set up here?" Mikey asks.

Rosita frowns, shaking her head. "Bridge took the repeater with it."

Rick peers over the edge, frowning down at the water and looking devastated. "This is a loss. This bridge connects the communities for trade."

"What about route A?" Daryl asks. "Is that clear yet?"

"It's still too close to the herd," Rosita says.

"We can still get to Alexandria from this side," Michonne says. "Stay there until it passes."

"No," Maggie says sternly. "Route A has taken days to clear before. I need to get home to Hershel."

"We could take Route D," Carol suggests. "It's early enough in the day."

Rick walks back past us all at a brisk pace, nodding to Rosita. "Keep an eye on the trade road in case anyone else tries to move through."

"I can keep her company," Mikey offers.

"Not necessary," Rick says, waving a hand his way, turning to Gabriel next. "Gabriel, y'all can head back to Alexandria from here. The rest of us— we can go to the Sanctuary or Hilltop, stay the night, and head off from there. Take care. Get home safe."

While everyone else gets their horses ready and the wagons turned around, I hold Rostia's bag as she spray-paints the message 'BRIDGE OUT' over a road sign.

"Come back to Hilltop after?" I ask.

"I really can't, manito," she grunts as she reaches up to redo the top of the E. "Sanctuary's hell at the moment."

"People aren't listening to Sasha and Daryl?"

She snorts. "I don't think that's ever going to be a problem."

"Then what?"

"Eugene needs my help with what we can salvage of the corn fuel," Rosita says, stuffing the spray can back into her pack and taking it from me. "That and as much as Sasha is holding her own, she could use the help right now. Daryl's not exactly around that much at the moment."

"Rhys!" Maggie calls from the wagon. "Let's get goin'."

"Hey, we'll do something once everything settles, okay?" Rosita touches my arm. "Scouts picked up on a bowling alley out north. It's been picked over but we could totally fuck up some pins."

I smile at her. "Sounds perfect."

Once Gabriel's group splits off, it's not long before the wagon gets stuck in mud kicked up from the storm. Route D has always been a shithole, but now it's practically a river of thick mud and running water.

"Maggie, I think the horses need a break," Ken calls.

Maggie glances at me, and I nod in confirmation after watching the horses on the wagons shake their heads and stop their feet. "He's right."

"Maybe we should leave the supplies," Maggie says, turning to Rick. "Send a group back in a day or two."

"It's risky," Michonne says down from her horse.

Mikey pulls a face like he agrees with her. "We've seen herds run through and annihilate way bigger things than these wagons."

Rick suggests swapping out the horses on the wagon to me. I shrug, saying that it should be fine if we have the time.

While the horses rest up, the rest of us unload the wagons to make them light before we try to haul them from the mud.

Rick counts and pulls with Michonne and the others while Ezekiel and I push from the back, boots deep in mud.

"One, two, three— pull!"

"Dad!" Carl calls from pulling, pointing back down the road the way we came from. I spin to see a group of walkers struggling out from the tree line.

"One more push," I yell.

Ezekiel nods. "We're almost there."

And one more push does it. We're out of the mud and onto the road.

"We're clear!" I bark, stumbling in the mud.

"Good," Rick says. "Let's get out of here."

I grab one end of the plough with Ken while Carl and Mikey get the other.

"Daryl, Michonne." Rick points to the looming walkers as he and Ezekiel get the canoe back in the wagon.

"On it," Michonne hisses, drawing her sword while Daryl twirls his two knives. She cuts one's head in half, while Daryl slashes and stabs another.

Walkers appear from the woods ahead of us, too. Ken yells back to us and Carl and I run up to help. Carl drives his knife into one while I spear through the head of the next. Enid and Marco send the horses they just reattached to the back wagon away to save them. The plough falls and breaks. Then there are too many and we all have to run.

"We've got to go, leave the wagon!" Rick yells.

Ken runs back for a horse that didn't get free.

"I've got to free her!"

Rick tries to grab him.

"Ken, wait!"

Ken cuts the line holding the horse. Then a walker lunges and bites deep into his arm. Then the horse rears back, kicking him in the chest and sending him off his feet.

-Carl-

Maggie's holding Ken's hand while Rhys holds down his head. Siddiq ties Dad's belt around Ken's arm, and Enid hands his a saw from her pack. I hold his arm outstretched.

The rest deal with the walkers behind us.

Siddiq opens Ken's shirt, he's spluttering blood and the purple hoof print on his chest is throbbing with each breath.

"Rhys, tell my dad to let Marco take my place, okay?" Ken gasps.

Rhys is crying and stroking the side of Ken's head and shaking his own head as he whispers nothing coherent.

"Don't talk like that," Maggie sobs.

"Hey, you're gonna talk to your dad yourself, okay?" Siddiq says. "Just stay awake. Stay awake!"

They're all trying to talk to him but his eyes keep fading and flickering until there's almost nothing left in them.

"No! Ken, look at me," Maggie sniffs. "Ken."

"Tell my mom and dad I'm— I'm coming—"

He's gone.

Enid and Rhys are crying. Maggie won't stop saying Ken's name. Then she's gently pushing a knife through his temple.